Implications
by Lynse
Summary: Jack doesn't intend to be fooled again, especially by blatant ghost trickery, and it's high time this ghost learned not to underestimate him. One-shot. Ambiguous character death


A/N: For cryptidloids on tumblr. They asked for an angsty reveal fic, so I wrote one that includes **ambiguous character death**. No one dies, but it's a distinct possibility if action isn't taken.

* * *

"Leave my son alone," growled Jack.

The ghost glared at him and spat some ectoplasm in his general direction, but even he wasn't strong enough to get out of that containment unit now that Jack had finally gotten him into it.

Well.

It was more than just a containment unit.

Jack had made some modifications on it just this morning, after the kids had gone to school.

But it was clear enough from the ghost's cocky attitude that he didn't know that.

Not that Jack would expect him to.

"I have no interest in your son," the ghost hissed, and Jack didn't bother to bite back his laugh at the obvious lie. He'd seen them in the same area, albeit rarely together—had he ever actually seen them together? Maybe once?—too often for it to be coincidence alone. He knew his son. Danny wouldn't willingly seek out this ghost. He wouldn't seek out any ghost, really—he actively tried to avoid their hunting trips—but he wasn't foolish enough to go after one this powerful on his own if he'd changed his mind.

And Jack knew very well why Danny might draw a ghost's interest. He was even less experienced at ghost hunting than Jazz. He was the easiest target of them all. True, Jack doubted this ghost was foolish enough to try overshadowing Danny and expect them to not notice that their son was a ghost, but—

"I'm not threatening your family," the ghost insisted. As if that weren't exactly what he was doing—or, rather, planning, before Jack had intervened.

This ghost had underestimated how much he cared for his family.

"I'm going to make sure of that," Jack said, and he reached for the giant red dial on the side of the containment unit. The ghost's eyes went wide, and Jack saw fear settle there. He wasn't sure if it was real—he and Maddie were still trying to determine whether or not that emotion might remain, if only to explain the Fright Knight's power over other ghosts—but it didn't matter right now. If it was real, all the better. If it wasn't, he was used to ghosts attempting to fool him, anyway.

He didn't bother to acknowledge the implications in the ghost's desperate assertions that he'd be free soon enough anyway, that Jack might as well let him go now and save them both the time and trouble. He ignored the carefully controlled panic lurking in the ghost's voice, behind a plea not _quite_ disguised as a command that Jack stop, when his words had no effect. Jack didn't blink as the ghost's voice rose a fraction and demanded to know exactly what he was doing.

He just turned the machine on.

The screams were startling real, even though he knew perfectly well that ghosts didn't feel pain. Against his better judgement, he turned the machine down to low and waited. He expected the ghost to take the opportunity to direct his power at the machine and try to break free, that desperation might push him past his façade of innocence.

Instead, the ghost dropped the floor, gasping as if he really needed air to breathe.

"I don't take threats to my family lightly, ghost. You should know better than to underestimate me."

The ghost might have whimpered. Or Jack might have imagined that. Either way, the ghost didn't face him.

"Do you understand me?"

"What—?" The ghost's voice was raw, raspy. "What—what _was_ that?"

Jack turned the machine back on. He couldn't see the anti-ecto-radiation that was flooding into the ghost, but he could see its effects. The way the ghost's suit started to shift and melt like wax. The way his skin, though more resistant, began to bubble and blister and burst as if burned.

And, of course, the way the ghost promptly gave up all acts of defiance and whole-heartedly turned himself over to the act of screaming and writhing in pain.

Jack stopped when there was a distinct shimmer of ectoplasm on the floor of the containment unit. The ghost looked up at him. His features were still defined, still distinctly humanoid, but now he looked as if he'd gotten a face full of caustic chemical. It was….

It was unnervingly similar to something Jack had seen once before, back when he was in college.

"You _imbecile_!" the ghost shrieked. "You absolute buffoon!"

That was familiar, too. The way pain and rage seemed to be what motivated the ghost to force the words from his throat, the way—

"What are you trying to do to me, you blundering oaf?"

The ghost struggled to his feet, ectoplasm smearing the glass as he pressed against it to push himself up.

The way his suit hung on him now, it reminded Jack of a lab coat.

Even his hair had been shocked out of its stylized horns, looking more like—

"Do you really want to finish what you tried to do the first time?" the ghost snarled. "Do you really dare _try_?"

There should be no way for the ghost to break out of the containment unit, but Jack turned the dial again anyway. Just in case. He didn't…. He didn't like that this ghost knew enough about his past to make those implications. Those accusations.

Especially when those very thoughts haunted Jack's darkest moments.

Vlad had been his best friend. Vlad and Maddie. But after the accident with the proto-portal—

The ghost fell, its knees buckling as the radiation hit it and once again began to destroy the cohesion of the ectoplasm it controlled. Jack ignored the screams. It was easy, especially now that the ghost was past the point of words.

Ectoplasm oozed from its form, but it was still maintaining its shape. An indicator of its strength, no doubt. Jack didn't relent. The anti-ecto-radiation…. It should be strong enough to destabilize a ghost entirely. And Jack wanted this one _gone_. It had no business threatening his family, trying to find a way to destroy it and use his son in the process.

Besides, it should have never been able to follow them from Wisconsin.

Wisconsin.

Where they'd met up with Vlad at the reunion after years of silence, after—

The ghost's skin didn't look as blue as it had moments before. It looked…redder. But a distinctly _human_ red, like someone who'd been sunburned, or—

The cape dissolved into bubbling ectoplasm entirely, and the rest of the ghost's costume melted away to reveal a dark suit that was quickly becoming stained with the ghost's ectoplasmic remains.

Jack wasn't sure when the hair had lost its dark colour and become matted grey.

He didn't know when the ghost had stopped screaming, either.

He didn't notice the silence until he realized that all he could hear was the high-pitched whine of the machine, the hum of a computer fan, and the deeper drone of the portal—all interspersed with the occasional beep that warned that they'd need to change the ecto-filter soon.

Jack shut off the anti-ecto-radiation and powered off the containment unit entirely.

The ghost maintained its imitation of his best friend.

Former best friend.

Jack knew he shouldn't open the door, shouldn't give in to an obvious ruse and allow the ghost to escape, but he still did it.

Ectoplasm squelched underfoot.

It was unpleasantly sticky.

Jack knelt in the mess anyway.

It…it looked like Vlad. He could give the ghost that much. It looked so much like his old college buddy. He hadn't known shapeshifting was one of Plasmius's abilities, but ghosts had surprised them before.

Jack prodded the ghost's arm. Still solid. Surprising, given how much ectoplasm it had lost. It should have been reduced to goo. It should—

"You always were a fool."

Its voice was weak, more breath than anything else, but Jack reacted immediately, pulling back and drawing an ecto-gun. The ghost's lips twitched into the briefest of smiles—or perhaps a grimace; Jack really wasn't sure if it could be called a smile—and it focused its blue eyes on Jack's face.

It looked too much like Vlad.

Even shifter ghosts tended to get things wrong, and eye colour was a common mistake.

"But you were right."

Ah, _there_ was the mistake. The ghost had betrayed itself with its whispered words, and Jack found it that much easier to prime the ecto-gun and hold it steady. As much as Jack knew Vlad was surely be proud of all his accomplishments—they spoke for themselves—he had never heard Vladdy admit it. Vlad had always preferred to defer to Maddie's judgement and acknowledge her skills. She was the one to double check all of Vlad's calculations. She was the one with whom he had always compared notes, the one he complimented and praised, even to this day. Never Jack.

"I shouldn't have underestimated you."

The ghost closed its eyes instead of attacking.

Jack wished he could close his, too, and wipe away this image of Vlad, but he knew better.

Knowing better couldn't keep his usually steady arm from shaking, though.

"I'll tear you apart, molecule by molecule," Jack said, resorting to an old standby in an attempt to keep the threat in his voice. "For what you tried to do."

The ghost's eyes opened. This time, it found the strength to grin at him. The expression looked so wrong on Vlad's face. It was humourless. Cold.

And it showed off impossibly bloody teeth.

Jack didn't realize he'd dropped the ecto-gun until it hit his knee and bounced into the ectoplasm all around them.

"You already have." Even weak, the response held the telltale note of a taunt. Jack no longer found it so easy to explain away the similarity between Vlad's voice and Plasmius's. He'd always ignored it before, because ghosts could only imitate humans, but—

But there was too much ectoplasm on the floor of the containment unit for any ghost to still retain its form so solidly, even one as strong as Plasmius. And it knew too much, looked and sounded and acted too much like Vlad. And…the blood. Ghosts didn't have blood.

But humans….

If humans were exposed to enough ectoplasm, then theoretically….

_No_. This was a trick. It had to be.

Except the ghost wasn't taking advantage of his lapse in judgement, and the illusion didn't waver.

Because it wasn't an illusion.

And the ghost in front of him…. It wasn't a ghost. If it ever really had been. If _he_ ever really had been. And Jack knew he should do something about that. Help him. Call Maddie. Follow their protocols for isolation. Deal with this. Do _something_.

But he couldn't move. He wanted to. He knew he should. But he couldn't.

_I'll tear you apart, molecule by molecule._

He just stared at the ghost.

_You already have._

At Vlad.

He watched as his old friend's ragged breathing got slower and slower, remembering everything Plasmius had ever said or done to threaten his family. To threaten _him_. Pieces that he'd never realized were missing were suddenly falling into place. He didn't know everything, but he now knew enough.

And he knew this wasn't something that he could fix.

He really had been a fool.


End file.
